


Like a Paper Doll

by conceptofzero



Series: Doll [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-24 16:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/265481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conceptofzero/pseuds/conceptofzero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another way Rag Doll could have ended - Jack Noir takes his creepiness to it's logical and horrifying extreme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Paper Doll

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Rag Doll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/117155) by [Ember_Keelty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ember_Keelty/pseuds/Ember_Keelty). 



> Do not read this unless you have already read Rag Doll, otherwise, it won't make any sense. The story branches off from Rag Doll in the second-last section. Italics denote Ember's original words.

_He leans back down to kiss her again, but stops when she tugs one of her arms against his grasp. "What are you doing?"_

_"I'm just... Can I... Can I touch you?"_

_He loves it, of course. He loves that she has to ask when he doesn't._ But he doesn't let go of her. "No," Jack says, and smiles, "You can't. But I can."

The tentacles pull her up so she isn't kneeling, but not enough to get her get her feet underneath her. Jack holds her face in his hand, and she expects him to kiss her again, but he doesn't. Instead, he reaches out and undoes the clasps on her uniform, one by one.

She reminds herself that she can play along. Even as he pulls her clothing opens, she thinks it over and over, clinging to it like a mantra. She can play along. She can survive. She can wait. He's not as smart as he thinks he is. He'll make a mistake. But no matter how much she thinks those words, she can still feel the horrible bubble of panic swelling inside of her stomach.

Jack slides his hand over her body, tracing the swell of her breasts and the flat of her stomach, all the way down to the Y where her legs meet. She tenses, and he just laughs, the tentacles on her arms tightening. "Patience doll. This isn't something you rush."

He kisses her, and it lacks anything resembling tenderness or love. Despite her disgust, she manages to kiss him back. Some distant part of her mind applauds her performance. Jack's hand rests between her thighs, just cupping the essence of her as if it is something he can possess.

"I should punish you. I'd be an idiot to let you think you've got regicide privileges," Jack tells her when he pulls his mouth off of hers, and he squeezes her arms hard enough to make her carapace creak. A shuddering gasp escapes her chest, but she manages to keep from blurting out anything stupid. After a moment, he loosens his grip, and sets a hand on her cheek. He smiles, and it's a wicked thing that sends chills up her spine. "But you aren't going to do that again, are you?"

"No." The word comes out as a whisper. And in her mind, she thinks next time will be the last time.

He sets her back down on her knees, and while she's still recovering, he pulls her arms together. One tentacle wraps around her wrists, and then slides up the rest of her arms, holding them tight. The other disentangles and slips between them. She's not entirely sure what he's doing with them until the tentacle wraps around his penis and begins to stroke it.

Jack laughs at the look of uncontrolled terror on her face. He pats her cheek, pointer finger splaying out and brushing over her lips, "Don't get your panties in a bunch. I've got something else in mind."

His hand slides down, cupping her left breast. The spare tentacle slips off Jack's erection and wraps around her right breast, and Jack pushes her forward until she's pressed right against him, his sword nearly poking her in the face. Jack slips his cock between her breasts, and his hand and tentacle push them together. She feels relieved that he isn't going to place that in her mouth, and then a bolt of shame that she could be relieved about anything he'd doing.

The prick between her breasts is warm and hard. She keeps her eyes focused on the sword in his stomach, thinking of ways to use it against Jack. Jack groans, and he presses her breasts tighter around his member, forcing her to move back and forth. "Just like that," He tells her, and she grits her teeth. "That's the stuff."

The tentacle around her arms continues to rock her back and forth, and she has no choice but to go with it. She bites down on the inside of her cheek when he flicks his thumb across her nipple, and again when the other tentacle squeezes her breast tightly. Her eyes glance down, and she sees his black erection peeking through the tops of her pressed-together bosom. She's never had much of a chest, but somehow Jack's managed to make something out of it. And when she glances up, she sees him looking down at her, his one good eye fixed on her face. She doesn't look away, staring him down with a defiance she thought she had lost.

Jack just keeps smiling at her, beginning to thrust into her breasts. She keeps watching, right until the moment he loses his control and he comes. There's a moment, just a single moment, but she notes it well. She ignores the way his hand tights on her breast, and the shockingly warm splatter of something she'd rather not think about on her chest. What she notes is how his tentacles slack, just for a moment, just for a second, and how his face slacks too, and how his one good eye shuts.

Just for a second. The tentacles tighten again before she can do a thing, and his eye snaps open, though he's clearly a bit dazed. She doesn't do anything, but only because she can't do anything. Yet.

The tentacle around her breast finally slides off, and where it was aches. His hand touches her chest, coming away with a little white goo on it. "Open up," Jack presses it against her mouth, and when she doesn't, he wraps the tentacle around her neck and squeezes until she does. It tastes salty and horrible. She could bite down on his finger, but she doesn't. This is a test. It's one she needs to pass. Jack seems pleased, and he finally slips it out, "Good girl."

"Do you want anything else?" Her voice is carefully dull, and her eyes are a little wet. The wetness is from the tentacle around her neck, but Jack doesn't know that. As far as he can see, he's broken her.

"We're done. For now," Jack stands, unwinding his tentacles from around her arms. She lets herself fall to the ground, knowing that Jack will like the look of her, powerless and defeated. "Get dressed. We need to set a few traps for the brats."

She gets to her feet, pulling the heavy uniform back together and doing the clasps up. In her mind she guesses at how long it will be before Jack feels the urge to humiliate her again. Another hour maybe. Enough time to prepare herself. She'll keep playing the game.

Because next time he loses control, next time he closes that eye of his and forgets that she's not as helpless as she looks, she's going to blind him. And then, she's going to kill him.

\--

But that isn't her chance.

The children walk right into Jack's traps. He's faster and quicker than they are, and far more vicious. They do their best, but he's so much more powerful than they are. Only the toy rabbit keeps them from being overwhelmed nearly instantly, and that's nothing but a stopgap measure.

She is shocked to see the Moon Princess. Her heart rises for a moment, thinking that perhaps Jack lied when he said he killed her. But unlike the Moon Prince, she's no longer dressed in her golden clothes, and there seems to be something different about her. Jack doesn't seem too surprised, and there must be something Archagents know about the Princes and Princesses that Parcel Mistresses aren't told.

The children hold their own, for a while. She cowers behind the throne, refusing to fight for Jack, but unable to fight against him like this. There's no place for her in this battle, and even if she entered it, there's a good chance they wouldn't believe that she wasn't their enemy. She wears the colours of Derse now, and there's blood and something else drying on her skin.

And then Jack gains the upper hand. The rabbit, the parcel she had fought so hard for, that she had sacrificed her whole planet for, fails. Jack overwhelms it's defences with a shower of green sparks and light, and there's a tearing sound, and the terrible noise of grinding gears. A hammer embeds itself in the wall of the throne room. A sword slam into the throne, breaking the chair in a dozen pieces. She throws her arms over her head, and the rubble clatters over her skin.

The Prince of the Moon hits the floor, howling in pain. There's a knitting needle in his arm, and strange purple light crackling around him. Derse's Prince and Princess shout something, and there's a noise that she cannot describe, followed by a blast that knocks her across the floor. When she's able to look up, she finds that they are gone, along with the Princess of the Moon. But the Prince...

She carefully approaches the boy. There's very little of him left. She feels her throat grow thick.

"Fuck!" Jack says, reappearing in a burst of green light. He stumbles, hand clutching his head. "Those brats!"

She wants to act. But her sword is lying across the room, and she has no other weapon on hand. She could attack him with her hands, but she knows that won't be enough. The ring on his hand needs to be removed before she can hurt him. And she isn't strong enough to pry that off his hands.

This goes against every fibre of her being. She settles her hands on Jack's shoulders and supports him, "Are you-"

Her question is cut short by a tentacle around her throat. Her hands grab onto it it, even as it lifts her in the air. She can't breath. Her legs kick, and she tries to say something, anything, but she can't breathe.

And then Jack drops her. She hits the floor, crumpling and gasping for air. Her throat hurts so much, still sore from the last time he choked her. She has a moment before Jack hauls her back up, hand wrapping around the back of her neck and holding her face down to his level. "Don't be stupid. You stand there and you just keep your hands to yourself unless I give you my say-so. Got it?"

"Yes," She says, and reminds herself to be patient, and not to spit in Jack's face, no matter how much she wants to.

Jack lets go of her. He stalks across the throne room, giving the Moon Prince's remains a solid kick. She holds in the tears she can feel building behind her eyes. The poor child. He was just trying to help. And deep inside her mind, a dark voice says why didn't he use the rabbit before? She dismisses it, ashamed that she even had that thought.

Jack returns to the remains of the throne, scowling at the shattered remains. He glances at her, gesturing to the room, "Clean this up. And stay here until I get back."

There's another burst of light and he disappears, leaving her alone again.

She looks around the room. The sword that destroyed the throne lies on the ground, the blade shattered further. Her own regisword looks pathetic, even beside the shattered remains of the sword. The hammer is stuck in the far wall. She carefully approaches it, putting one hand around the grip and giving it a hard tug. It doesn't budge.

The rubble is still warm to the touch when she picks it up. She isn't sure what to do with it, so she piles it in the corner of the room. It's a slow job, but she does it, just glad to have something mindless to do. Something that doesn't involve blood. She moves the rubble until the chamber is clean again, and the broken base of the throne is all that's left.

She glances out the window, trying to see Skaia. All she sees is the shrinking asteroid belt. Are the remaining children hiding there? Or among one of the four planets? Her heart feels heavy thinking about it. Jack won't stop until he finds them. She's going to have to act before then.

There's a flash in the sky and she stumbles back, holding her arm over her eyes. When it dies down, she looks again, trying to figure out what she's seeing. She has to squint, but it appears that something's happened to the defence portals to reactivate them. Skaia isn't being directly bombarded anymore, and she's not sure how the children have managed to do such a thing. Maybe the attack on the throne room wasn't as useless as she thought.

But she can't think about that too much. She's so tired. All she wants to do is sleep. There's carpet in the throne room, and she lies down on it. The hard marble can be felt underneath the carpet, but she's so tired she doesn't care. Her eyes close.

\--

She hears the voices before she wakes up, and they intrude on her nightmares. She's dreaming that Jack's got a tentacle around her neck, and she can't breath, and he says, "How long until we shut off those fucking portals?"

"I don't know," The Dignitary speaks up, standing to her right. He's watching Jack choke her, "I'm not sure what piece of equipment they used to turn them on. You'd know their functions better than me."

"Fuck," Jack squeezes, and she's so sure her head will just pop off her shoulders and go tumbling across the floor, "I'll handle that. You get babysitting duty."

She wakes up, gasping for air. Jack and the Dignitary are standing by the ruined throne. The Dignitary's doesn't spare her a look, heading down the long hall out of the throne room. She's nothing to him. A non-entity. Right now, she wishes that's what she really was. Her eyes are cloudy with sleep and her brain is functioning slowly.

Meanwhile, Jack snaps his fingers at her, "Hey, get over here. You've got work to do."

Her body is sore and stiff as she rises off the ground. She isn't sure what time it is. The sky seems lighter than when she closed her eyes. She feels numb as she approaches him, stopping only to grab hold of her sword. Her hand shakes a little, and no matter how she tightens her grip, she can't seem to stop it.

He ignores it. There's a new list in his hands. He holds it out to her.

"I thought-" She stops herself before she can say anything stupid. But she thought the list he gave her would be the last.

"It's a big planet doll. You thought they were the only ones who would cause me trouble? Some of these rubes haven't gotten the memo yet. I'm in charge. And they're going to understand this, one way or the other," He holds out the list and pauses, "But... I could get the Dignitary to take care of it."

She's so tired that she doesn't understand for a moment. And then the meaning sinks in, and she feels a bit of fear spike through her. This is what she needs to do. This is what he wants.

"Do I have to?" She asks anyway.

"No. But then you get the list. I'm not making you do anything." Jack smiles at her, and wraps a tentacle around her waist, letting the end brush against the opening in the fabric. But it doesn't slide in. The list is still in his hand. "Make up your mind."

She looks at the list, and then at Jack, and reaches for the clasps on her uniform. Jack just slides the tentacle inside, and as her fingers undo the clasps, he wraps his tentacle around her chest, and pushes her down. She falls onto her knees. The impact on the marble sends little shocks up her knees. Jack pushes open her uniform when she has the last clasp undone, and the dark tentacles worm their way across the surface of her skin.

Jack reaches out and takes her hand, pressing it overtop of his shaft. She reluctantly curls her fingers around it, beginning to stroke him. Her mind goes blank as she does it. He settles his hand on her head while the tentacles slither over her, curling around her breasts and her legs.

It's mindless work, moving her hand along him. She hears the sounds he makes, soft little grunts as she jerks him off, and for one awful moment, her mind tries to pretend they belong to someone else. Except that's worse, that's so much worse, and she forces that away. She won't let him taint good memories, and she won't let herself be distracted. Her sword is lying nearby. When he comes, she won't have much time, but she should have enough to get a hand on it, and stab him in the chest.

Jack keeps rubbing his fingers across her head, like he's petting her, and the motion bothers her deeply in a way she can't explain. She simply strokes him, and her skin crawls as the tentacles shift and move. One slides between her legs, just resting against her, and it takes all her self-control not to scream. Instead, she moves her hand faster, and stares at the sword in his chest, and thinks about what it will look like when there's a second one there.

There are little sparks on his skin, and he groans loudly, thrusting into her hand. His eyes close, and her free hand reaches for the sword. Her hand closes over the handle, and the world goes green, and he's gone. She nearly tips over, and she brings the sword up off the floor, looking around for him. Jack's not there.

She hears him before she sees him, the snap of his wings opening, and as she looks up, he comes swooping down from the ceiling, slamming her into the ground. The sword goes flying, skidding across the throne room, and she hits the marble hard. Jack lands directly on her chest, and he's laughing as his tentacles grab onto her arms and pin them down.

"Did you really think that would work?" He mocks her, and she can barely breathe with him sitting on her chest, "I was once just like you. Only I had the intelligence to make my assassination attempts a little more subtle. I should kill you."

"Then kill me." She blurts out, voice strained as she speaks.

"You really want that doll?" His hand grabs onto her neck and he squeezes. Her legs kick helplessly at the floor, but he's got her pinned down and his fingers dig into her neck deeply. "I don't believe you. You're just like me. You want to live, and you'll do whatever it takes to keep living for another day."

She hates him. But he's right. She wants to live, even if only so she can kill him herself. Her mouth falls open and she tries to breath, but the hand on her neck squeezes tighter, and the edges of her vision start to go black. She mouths 'please' at him, hating herself for being so weak but fearing death so much more.

The grip lets up, and she almost chokes as she breathes in. Her throat hurts, and Jack just keeps staring down at her, his hand resting on her neck, "What do you have to say?"

"s-sorry." Is all she can manage to spit out. The words are bitter and they burn as badly as her lungs.

Jack smiles, and wraps his hand around his cock. He strokes himself, and she closes her eyes. She feels him come, the warm sticky liquid splattering across her face and neck, and Jack moaning softly as he finishes. Once again, the tentacles loosen, just for that moment, and he doesn't seem to notice.

He gets off of her, and yanks her up into a sitting position. Her eyes open up, and she wipes at her face with a trembling hand, not having anything to clean herself up with except for her uniform. She uses the inside of it, dabbing at her face and neck until they come away clean. When she begins to do her uniform up, Jack slaps her hands away from the clasps, and he slips his hand around her breast, squeezing it. She gasps, and Jack leans in close, "The next time you act up, I'll cut one of them off. I'm kinder than her, but even I have limits."

He lets go of her breast, and she can't close her uniform fast enough, fingers shaking badly enough that she has to try do some of the clasps two or three times before they take. Jack zips across the room to pick up her sword and comes back a second later, holding it out to her, along with the list of names. She looks at both of them, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach doubling, "... but... we had a deal."

"That was made before you tried to stab me. Now the deal is that you do this, and I don't have you drawn and quartered in the square." He puts the list in one hand and the sword in the other before pushing her towards the door. "Take care of them. And when you're done, go to the royal chambers and get cleaned up."

"What about you?" She asks, too numb to react to the sudden change.

"I've got my own things to take care of. Like those fucking brats." Jack drapes a tentacle around her shoulders, the tip brushing up against her face. The touch repulses her, but she manages to conceal it. "Don't worry. I'll catch up with you soon enough."

She doesn't look at the list. Her fist tightens around it and she carefully steps out of his grasp, beginning the long walk out of the throne room. She's barely three steps away when he grabs onto her neck again, yanking her around to face him.

"One last thing," Jack's clearly enjoying how much control he has over her, and it's taking every bit of self-control not to react. "Don't make me find you."

The rest of the threat goes unsaid. The tentacle unwraps from her neck, and Jack leaves, the flash imprinted on the back of her eyes. She blinks until she can see again, blinks away the water forming in her eyes because this isn't the place or time. And then, she walks out of the throne room, list still in her hand.

\--

The streets of Derse are disturbingly quiet. This place isn't like her home. It's everything that Prospit is not: gloomy and dark, and hostile. There are people here, but they fall silent the moment she comes in view, or they find reasons to go down side-streets. She doesn't know if it's because of the blood on her clothes, or if they know who she is.

Three of the names on the list are gone. It is a relief each time she pushes open a door and finds the house empty, the cupboards and drawers ransacked by some desperate fleeing citizen. She tries to cling to the faint hope that all of Jack's enemies will be long gone, but there is a part of her that knows it won't be this easy, that it can't be this easy.

One attacks her when she steps into the house, swinging a coat rack at with a desperate clumsiness. He's terrified, and the look doesn't leave his eyes, even after his head separates from his shoulders. She doesn't think about attacking him, she simply does it. There is a long moment when she looks at the body and realizes that it does get easier the more she does it. His head lays unclaimed on the floor as she leaves his home, swallowing back bile.

Two of the others are at home.

The first man begs her to spare his life, swearing up and down that he's loyal to Jack. Her sword has blood on it and her skin feels like it will never be clean. He is nearly in tears, and she speaks before she can stop herself, "Run. Run away."

He does. He runs right out of the house. She watches from the doorway as he gets ten feet away, and startles when the sound of a gunshot rings out. The man twists and falls, looking so graceful for a moment before he crashes down into the street. She steps into the door frame and watches as the Draconian Dignitary steadily walks towards the broken man. The Dignitary takes aim and carefully puts a bullet in the man's head.

The sound echoes through the empty street, bouncing through the tightly packed houses, and through the empty space in her chest. He glances over at her, the Dignitary's face carefully blank. Her fingers tighten around the sword's hilt. In that moment, she understands how he found her so quickly the last time. And she understands what happened to the others she warned.

The second woman does not beg. She is defiant, arms crossed and dressed in pink silks and a princess hat. The sudden colour is a shock to the ex-parcel mistress' system, a sudden reminder of how no one else on Derse wears those colours anymore, except for the rags around Jack's shoulders.

"So, you've come for my head." The women tilts her chin up, and it hurts so much to look at her. "You can silence me, but it won't change anything. He can wear her ring, but he'll never be half the leader she was."

She wants to tell her to run away. But the Dignitary isn't too far away and she knows he'll check. He'll kill this woman, and then he'll tell Jack, and Jack will-

It's too awful to think about. She pushes them away and tries to steady her hand. But it's so hard.

"Go on. Kill me, if you can. We both know the truth.." This woman in her unstained clothes, with her unsullied morals, this woman has no idea what it's really like. What it's been like to be Jack's plaything. This woman speaks, and there's a smile at the edges of her lips, "He's a tyrant, and you're just his petty murderer-"

The woman screams. Her arm lies on the floor, still twitching. Her dress isn't so pristine anymore. The next strike is not the killing blow either, simply piercing the woman's side, nor is the next, or the next. They are crude and indelicate wounds, and they bleed profusely, and the shrieks of pain are like music.

This isn't like the first murder, or the second, or the third. She felt horror then, and a numbness. She looks at the body on the floor, and she feels... resentful. Jealous. And disappointed.

The feeling passes. She stumbles against the wall, sucking in air. Blood drips off her sword and puddles on the ground. A larger red pool spreads outwards from the remains of the other woman. She would throw up, but there's nothing left in her stomach but acid.

For a moment, she half expects the Dignitary to appear in the doorway and applaud her. But he doesn't. She pushes herself off the wall, and steps outside, back into the streets of Derse. The ships are not so far away. She could run for them, and hope that she was quicker than the Dignitary's bullets. Except.

Except, she's sacrificed so much. If she left now, it would all be for nothing. All the innocent condemned by the list. The destruction of her home. Jack's awful lust. She can't give in now. She has to see this through. She has to kill him.

Her feet guide her back to the dark towers, away from the last of the ships.

\--

She isn't sure how long she's been sitting in the showers. The water's long gone cold, but she doesn't care. No matter how she scrubs at her skin, she finds flecks of blood here and there, caught in the cracks of her carapace.

Her legs were like jelly when she reached the royal chambers. She tried to remember the last time she had rested, not just slept on the carpet in the throne room like a dog, and found with a dull horror that it had been yesterday morning, in her own little bed. It didn't feel like it had been a few dozen hours ago. It was more like a thousand hours, weeks and weeks of becoming a stranger. She managed to strip and get into the shower, but after a few minutes, she had to sit down because her legs refused to support her anymore.

This is is how Jack finds her, sitting on the floor of the shower, the water pouring down on her head. She doesn't bother to get to her feet. If he wants to hurt her, he'll have to come down to her level. She just keeps scrubbing at her hands, trying to get them as clean as they'd been when she woke up this morning.

Jack just stares at her for a moment, and then turns off the water with one tentacle. The other plucks the brush out of her hand, throwing it across the room. She stares at the floor for a moment before she realizes that the brush is gone, and then she glances up at Jack.

"Get up." He tells her.

She just stares at him, too tired and numb to respond to the implied threat. It's only when he tries to wrap one around her neck that she finds the strength to stand, back scraping against the tiles as she recoils from the long black inches.

"What's wrong? Don't like to be touched?" He grins at her, like he's caught her in a lie.

She forces down all the words she wants to say. "I don't like you touching my neck." Her voice is hoarse when she speaks. "It hurts."

Jack chuckles, but he doesn't touch her. "There's some new clothes for you on the back of the door. Put them on."

He disappears in a flash. It's pointless. She knows he's just waiting outside. He just likes reminding her that he's powerful. It's like Jack's afraid that the moment he stops reminding people, it'll all disappear and he'll be helpless. She holds onto that though, even as she awkwardly stumbles out of the shower. There's a mirror on the wall, and her neck is so badly bruised that she can see some of the discolouration through her carapace. She looks at the stranger in the mirror, and then forces herself to move on.

A dress hangs on the back of the door, a real dress. She glances at the sodden ruined rags on the floor, and at the silk thing on the hanger, and for a moment, she honestly can't decide which to choose. The bloody rags will just get her dirty, but... something about this dress seems worse. It belonged to someone else, and she's not sure she wants to think about who that someone is. But she steels herself. Just a little bit longer. She already knows his weakness. All she has to do is wait for the moment to come again.

The black silk was meant for someone a bit taller than her, and bustier, and it doesn't fit her properly. She doesn't look in the mirror, unwilling to see what Jack's trying to make her into. Instead, she clings to the thought of him dead, and she holds it tightly to her breast as she steps out of the bathroom and into the boudoir.

Jack has his back to her, sorting through the Black Queen's vanity. The dead monarch's perfumes have all been uncorked and the stink lingers in the room like a living thing. His handiwork can be seen in the Queen's wardrobe as well, dozens of outfits lying on the floor like dead things. From where she stands, she can see Jack's face clearly in the mirror, and she watches as he paws through the Queen's jewelry box like a burglar, sneering as he discards bracelets and necklaces. There's something almost funny about it. Almost.

He scoops up one necklace and tosses it to her. She catches them out of instinct, glancing at it as an afterthought. It's a set of black pearls, with the tiniest of golden clasps, the sort of thing that you would need someone to help you put around your neck. Jack just looks at her, and she puts them around her neck. Her fingers are numb, and she fumbles with the clasp, certain that she'll break the string before she gets them around her neck. But by some luck, she doesn't. The pearls fit better than the dress, but they press down on the bruise and it hurts, just a little.

Jack seems pleased, or as pleased as he ever gets. He crosses the room to the window, and a tentacle wraps around her back, pushing her to tag along. "Things are back on schedule. I know how they got the portals running again. The Prince of Derse was able to travel through time and pull them forward, but I've taken care of him. He won't be muddling with Skaia anymore."

The third death means nothing to her. Derse means nothing to do her. From the windows in the Queen's chambers, they can see the planet's capital, and all she can feel is a dull hate. It's not right that her world is dead while this world has survived. But then again, it's not right that the man standing beside her has a ring, and that she has to tolerate his presence.

He continues, speaking as someone who speaks simply to hear his own voice, "Derse is going to need stability. I've already got the bureaucracy running again, which should keep them busy for a while. Of course, they're going to need more. You should fill that gap until the Dignitary and I can finish deciphering the rest of the machinery he found in the Veil."

She stares at him, not comprehending what he means. Jack doesn't explain, staring out over the city. She wants to shove him out the window, but she knows those wings of his would just catch him. For a moment, she imagines holding onto them, twisting them back while they both tumble down the tower to their deaths.

Jack steps away from the window, the tentacle around her waist forcing her to follow him. They pass out of the Queen's boudoir, leaving the heady smell behind, and proceed to the room at the end of the hall. He pushes the door open his his hand, and she finds herself standing in what must have been the King and Queen's bedroom.

The sight of the four-poster bed makes her want to cry. She's so tired. All she wants to do is curl up in a ball and sleep, but she knows there won't be any sleep for her in that thing. Jack pushes her towards it, but doesn't follow, making his way around the room to snoop at a dead man's possessions.

She sits on the bed and watches Jack. He's less like a looter, more like a child left alone in his parent's bedroom. His tentacles overturn cologne bottles and probe through drawers, as if somehow he will turn up some dark secret. He loses interest soon enough, stalking over to the bed. But he doesn't touch her. Instead, he sits at the end, those large black wings of his folding themselves up. She waits, and the longer she waits, the harder it is to stay awake. Her eyes try to shut themselves without her permission.

When it becomes too much, she finally speaks, wearily asking him, "What do you want?"

"Nothing." He smiles. "I have everything."

"Can I sleep?" She hates that she has to ask.

"Of course." Jack tries to sound sympathetic, but it's just a put-on. She watches him a moment longer to make sure she's not walking into a trap. But he just keeps looking at her. Fine. He can watch her sleep if that's what he wants. She's sure he'll have some horrible way of waking her up. She lies back on the bed, curling up and closing her eyes.

Her eyes snap back open the moment she feels his weight settle down on the bed. This is the moment she's been waiting for. She can't panic. But still, her heart speeds up, and she fights to keep her breathing under control as Jack settles himself against her back. One wing flips out, settling overtop of her, while his tentacles snake around her legs. His one arm wraps around her waist. And then...

And then nothing.

He chuckles right against her ear, "Calm down doll. I'm not about to do anything to you. I'm not her." And his voice is like poison when he says that last word.

She laughs. She can't help it. It's not happy laughter, it's something else, He's not going to do that to her. No, he'll just make her into a murderer and a traitor to her people and he'll strip her naked and use her breasts to get himself off and he'll threaten to kill her and choke her again and again, but he won't do that to her. She laughs, and laughs, and then she's crying and she's not entirely sure when her body switched gears.

Jack doesn't hurt her. He just holds her, his hand splayed possessively across her stomach. And she just cries and cries until she finally just passes out from exhaustion.

\--

She wakes when it's dark, and Jack pulls her into a sitting position, pressing a glass into her hands. He's talking, but she's still dizzy with sleep, and even as he pushes her onto her feet, she only catches part of it, "-worlds. Universes out there, just waiting for us."

Her mouth tastes like something died in it. She drinks what's in her hands, and coughs at the sudden taste of champagne. He just smacks her on the back with his hand and keeps guiding her over to the windows overlooking the planet. She looks out, and doesn't understand what she's meant to look at. There's a weird light on everything.

One tentacle curls under her chin and turns her head to face the right way.

You can't see Skaia normally. It's too small, too far away, and the small blue speck hides between the asteroids of the Veil. But she can see it now. Everyone can. Skaia is burning. The core has been cracked open, and the universe budding within it is dying. The light is horrible and somehow manages to make Derse even uglier.

The glass slips out of her hand and tumbles down, hitting the lip of the floor and tumbling out of the top of the tower. Jack doesn't notice, but her eyes follow it all the way down, turning end over end until her eyes lose track of it. She never hears it smash.

"Beautiful," Jack leans his weight against her, one black wing embracing her back. "But this is nothing. It's only the start."

"Only the start," She echoes, voice numb.

He guides her away from the window and back towards the bed. She's still thinking about Skaia, and when her legs hit the edge of the bed, she just falls over onto it. Jack perches above her, wings outspread. His hand rests on her thigh, and slowly creeps under the dress. "The machines open the way to other worlds."

She doesn't feel panicked, or terrified, or worried, or disgusted. She doesn't feel anything at all when he slips a finger inside of her, brushing up against her clit. Her body shivers, but her mind is elsewhere, listening to the conversation intently.

"There are billions of them out there." Jack tells her, the finger steadily rubbing against her, "Billions of them. And most of them are young and fresh, just waiting to be taken. All they need is a Supreme Sovereign... and his Pliant Mistress."

Her mouth falls open. He isn't- He can't be- Oh but he does.

Jack misinterprets this, smiling as he slips in a second finger and pinches her clit between the two of them, rubbing on either side. "You won't have a ring like mine, but I'll get you something nice. Something else to go around that lovely neck of yours." And he curves a tentacle around it, snaking it around the necklace already hanging there.

She can see it, as clearly as if she were looking into the clouds that once floated over a now-dead Skaia. Jack conquering world after world with his powers, playing with them until he's bored and then destroying them, like a petulant child who can do whatever he pleases. And she's standing beside him, his doll, his plaything, his favourite toy, forced to witness until the end of time, or until he finally tires of her.

She shudders so hard that she can feel it in her bones, her mind unable, unwilling to accept this. Jack mistakes it for pleasure, and he laughs, and draws his hand out. A few hours ago, she would have thought it funny that he didn't even know the difference between a shiver of pleasure, and one of revulsion. But now he's talking about enslaving entire universes, and nothing seems funny.

Jack presses a kiss to her mouth, and even though it's soft, it still makes her feel claustrophobic. The tyrant stands up, electricity crackling over his skin, the second before he disappears. When he goes, he leaves a hole in the world.

There is a long moment when she just lies there, too numb to move. The red light fills the royal's bedroom, and she is tired, too tired to sleep, to tired to stand, to tired to live. There's a quiet voice inside of her that says 'just lie here. Just lie here forever'.

No the dark voice interrupts it, blotting it out, Get up. Get up. We've lost too much to quit now.

And she gets up. She looks around the room, and she knows what she needs to do.

 

\--

Jack is in the throne room. The Dignitary lets her pass inside without a word, but his eyes rest on her neck for a moment. She doesn't look him in the eye. He might realize what she's about to do.

The room is filled with a green light. There a small rip in the middle of the room, and the light leaking out it makes the bruises on her skin throb. Jack doesn't even notice her at first, pulling on the edges of the rip like a sweater. But he does see her, and he snaps his fingers and the rip simply disappears.

"What's wrong? Hungry? I'll call the Dignitary," But she shakes her head, and he doesn't. "What?"

She approaches the broken throne, pausing to slip out of the dress, and gets onto her knees in front of him. Jack straightens up, suddenly interested in what she's got planned. She carefully leans down, and presses her lips to the top of his feet. The tentacles don't grasp onto her, but they hang nearby as Jack evaluates the situation. She ignores them, carefully making her way up his legs. When she presses her lips to either knee, she steals a glance at his face.

He's confused, but clearly intrigued. She smiles, and the expression comes easily, shy and coy at the same time, "Jack... I want something."

There's relief in his shoulders, a return to a status quo he understands. A tentacle embraces her chest, curling around her breasts. "Of course you do. Come on doll, spit it out."

"It's the children... I don't like the thought of killing any more of them," She presses her lips against his legs, and moves up to his thighs. He's half-hard, and she doesn't touch him, flicking her eyes up. "Can you just find a new world and leave them there?"

His hand settles on her head, and he strokes it. She can smell herself on that hand, and it takes everything in her to keep that coy smile on her face. "Maybe. Depends on how well you do."

She leans forward and presses a kiss to the tip of his erection. Jack's breathing changes, hitching a little as she slides her mouth just over his head. He tastes awful, but she keeps that coy look on her face, letting her tongue mold itself to the tip. His other tentacle slips between her legs, and the blunted end presses against her entrance. She clamps down on the spike of panic, and forces herself to keep licking, sucking a little on Jack.

The hand on her head pushes, and her mouth slides down further, taking in most of his length. The tentacle pushes forward at the same time, and slips inside of her. She moans around his cock, and it's not entirely faked. Her mouth moves up and down, and on the up motion, she steals a glance at his face. He's staring at her and smiling. The smile is unpleasant, but it isn't entirely cruel. In fact, there seems to be something to it that's almost... fond. She doesn't want to see that, she can't let herself see that, and so she doesn't.

The tentacle inside her her thrusts in time with the motion of her mouth on him, and the hand on her head encourages her to go deeper, and faster, and to stay down longer. There are parts of her mind that can barely think about what she's doing, or what he's doing to her. There are other parts that are actually enjoying this on some sick level. Jack may not have known what he was doing in the bedroom, but he knows it here, and as the tentacle around her breasts squeezes, she finds herself faced with the possibility that she may come too.

He thrusts up into her mouth, and she pulls off, ignoring the hand pushing her back down. Instead, she slips one hand around his erection, and reaches up with her free hand, pulling his hand off his head. She draws it down so it's level with her mouth, and while she strokes him steadily, she slips her tongue out and licks his fingertips one by one. She can taste herself there, the remains of Jack's molestation, and the tentacle inside of her thrusts in the right place and her mouth just falls open, a real moan tumbling out.

"There you go." He says, fingertips brushing against her mouth. She moans again, and closes her eyes so he doesn't see the look in her eye. It hurts when she comes, the feeling too big and too sharp to handle. The hand on him stalls, and she has to fight to make herself start stroking him again. Jack chuckles and leaves the tentacle inside of her. "That's good. Ah fuck."

It's so easy. He's forgotten that she's not his friend. He's forgotten that she was ever anything but his toy. She strokes him faster, forcing herself to smile up at him, ignoring how conflicted her body's feeling, "Jack... "

"Doll." Jack groans, and as he does, her mouth slips over his index finger, all the way to the base. She can taste herself and the ring, metal and salt mixing together. Jack squeezes her breasts, and the tentacle inside of her squirms, and he comes with a groan. Her hand strokes him steadily, cum spilling over it. The tentacles go lax, and she looks him right in the eyes and bites his finger off.

Shell and bone aren't so easy to bite through, but she's determined and she does. The prototyping disappears, wings and tentacles and dog ears all just vanishing immediately, and she falls back onto the floor with nothing holding her in place. She fights desperately not to swallow the finger in her mouth, tasting blood and iron.

Jack screams in pain, hand bleeding. He lunges for her, but she's ready and she's got everything to lose if he gets this ring back. Jack's angry, but he's smaller than she is, and she catches him, keeping him at arm's length as she rolls them over. There are no witty words out of her mouth, no defiant 'I told you's. There's nothing but the grim look on her face as she smashes his head into the floor of the throne room, over and over and over and over again until there's nothing left by a red smear and a black pulp.

Only when she's sure beyond the shadow of a doubt does she spit out the bloody digit, catching it in her own hand. She pries the ring off his still twitching finger and drops it on the floor, stomping on it until it's as still and unmoving as the rest of Jack. And then, and only then, does she slip the ring onto her own hand.

It is.

It is.

It is indescribable. The power. The universe laid out before her. She can sense every place in the cosmos, every time. The wings on her back beat once, twice, and she lifts into the air. The prototyping fits her better than it ever fit Jack. But she's similar in height to the Queens, and more like them than Jack could ever hope to be.

She knows the Dignitary is at the door even before he opens it. All she has to do is think, and she is there in a heartbeat, appearing in a flash of light. She easily twists the gun out of his hand, snapping his wrist in the process, and grabs the other hand with a tentacle. It's so easy to force him to his knees.

The remains of Jack lie nearby. The Dignitary glances at them, and up at her. She is naked and glowing, triumphant and splattered with blood, and her one eye fixes on him. There is understanding written all over his face, maybe even acceptance. He bows his head. "Monarch."

It would be so easy to slip her extra tentacle around his neck, to force head to tilt up, to press it between her thighs. But she isn't Jack, and she snaps the Dignitary's neck without a second thought. He would only betray her, just as she betrayed Jack, just as he betrayed his own Queen. She dumps his body on the floor and steps away from it.

There is a soft noise at the door. She glances towards it. The Courtyard Droll stands there, both hands pressed tightly over his mouth. He's looking at the Dignitary. "Oh no," He whispers, "No no."

She doesn't kill him. He's not worth killing. The pitiful little thing can't hurt her, and he isn't worth hurting. She leaves him to mourn his evil friends, choosing to be somewhere else simply by thinking it.

Prospit is in ruins. The dead lie untouched in the streets, the blood long dried by the strange light from Skaia. Her roof is broken and it is nothing for her to make the piles of rubble inside her home disappear. The house is otherwise undamaged, the little table and chair by the window still intact. She goes to her closet and draws out a uniform. But it doesn't fit over the prototyping. The wings and tail are in the way, and the sword is just low enough to keep sawing at her skirt. If she takes off the ring, it'll fit.

But if she takes off the ring, there's nothing stopping anyone from hurting her.

She walks back into her kitchen and sits in her breakfast nook. Yesterday morning, she sat here, and she watched people walking along the streets, talking and laughing, hurrying here and there. There had been excitement in the air, and she had been excited too, smiling to herself as she thought about her daily mail route and where it would take her.

The first tears fall without her permission, and once they come, the gates open up and she can't hold it back any longer. She cries without reservation, sobbing openly in her kitchen nook. Her wings wrap around her body, and she weeps for all of Prospit, and for Skaia and the players, and even for Derse. But mostly, she weeps for the Parcel Mistress, who had looked out her window at breakfast and thought about what a wonderful day it would be, not knowing that Jack Noir was just on the horizon.

The crying stops almost as abruptly as it starts. She's not the Parcel Mistress anymore. As long as the ring is on her finger, she can't be weak and she can't sit in this house, crying over might-have-beens. She stands and takes off the clothes, folding them neatly and setting them on the table. These can't fit her anymore. The White Queen will have clothes that fit despite the prototyping. And that's who she is now. That's who she has to be.

The Plenipotentiary Monarch takes her leave to the Royal Chambers to seek out clothes, and to heal her broken kingdom.


End file.
